Everyone's A Composer: A Collection of Repo poems
by strangesmallbard
Summary: Of all different characters, situations, ideas and pairings. T for now.
1. Magdalene

_A/N: I was going to post these all together, (since some are so short), but formatting wouldn't let me use page breaks. So I'm going to post one by one, (two today) and hopefully add more as the ideas come._

Magdalene, Magdalene

Looking up at the birds in flight

Wishing you can't see them at all

Yearning for the day when you can join them

With your wings whole.


	2. Pretending Colors

Gray

It's sad that it's the only true color there is.

The billboards and screens flash with colors bright

Casting eyes away from imperfections.

The blue glow that makes us visit all the colors in the world

But when it is over, they slip away into shadows

Bright green hair, digging into the hair follicles that were once a dull, real brown

Red, spilling from the bodies in rivulets

Marking the ground with it's finality

But it shouldn't have been spilt at all

The red is falsely placed

But gray paints the sky every night

Reminding us of what has been done to this world.

It litters the ground with pavement

It paints the home for a cheap, affordable price.

It's cold.

It has no definition of what color was or is to us.

But it's what it is.

A gray painted canvas is waiting.

Waiting to be filled with shades again.


	3. Walk

It was a strange silhouette to see

A girl wearing a dress so pretty

Hands and shoulders covered in blood

A deal with the devil has saved her, maybe.

So she walks on.


	4. Carmela

The gun is pressed against her skin

Skin that was brand new

The spark is heard faintly

Before a feeling of unfeeling spreads completely

A smirk is seen before she shuts her eyes

Allowing the bliss to cover her soul in a protective layer

The world is spinning

Sensations don't exist

She knows nought what she is saying

The colors spread along her vision

Each step towards them feels light and heavy alike.

She thinks she hears words and names forgotten in the distance.

Carmela..

Carmela..


	5. Brother, Brother

Brother with the heart.

Brother with the brain.

They clash completely

But are one and the same.


	6. Two Selves Battle

You want to do it, Repo Man.

You want to run the scalpel through her flesh

Hear her crying in pain.

See the blood spill second by second.

No, you can't Nathan Wallace.

She's one you once held dear

Once a shoulder to cry on

One whom your heart once yearned for.

But age has done her well, Repo Man

She is beautiful still

Red could be her color

Her payment is due, Repo Man

And it's your job to repossess her

But, Nathan Wallace

Where do your loyalties lie?

They lie in your dark soul, Repo Man

Your loyalties are only to yourself, Repo Man

To you and the lives you take

For every cut and slice that you make

Nathan Wallace, what about your daughter?

The one you denied her godmother

Shouldn't you make up for that poor decision?

There are innocent eyes on you, Repo Man

Perhaps you shall save your desires for another time

In order to preserve a familiar face

To remember your wits once more

Would be disastrous

Shover her out, I say

For she is disturbing your pretend peace

How could you, Nathan Wallace

Deny your child something so simple as a mother.

Shame on you, shame on you

You have wronged her yet again.


	7. To Sing Truth Once More

A voice of an angel she had

The soul of separate worlds had she

A saint to the devil she was

A savior to us all, some agreed

She did not agree, she agreed with her soul

Which she had sold to the devil, she thinks.

A reason to see sunrise, she had not

Until a girl, timid was she, showed up.

Then the saint to the devil would show the world

How like a devil was he.

So she could live in peaceful sunset.

But the world didn't understand her wordless tale

And she plummeted, farther than the eyes of them allowed to see

And the world still believed she was that saint, that saint to the devil was she.

And she remained in agony, the truth took the sky.

Exist, she does not.

Not anymore,

But as long as the voice of the angel, she has, sings on it's lies

Without her consent, she will stay on.

Lest another comes to tell the tales she cannot tell, then she will be free to sing of truth

And be not a saint, not a savior.

But sound.


End file.
